


Breakfast Makes Perfect (+ art)

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Awake the Snake (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Banter, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Moustache (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: The truth is that he’s been foolish, telling Crowley they had to respect the rules, fully expecting the demon to show up anyway with a case of wine in a matter of days. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to play hide and seek anymore, not in this world where they don’t have to hide anymore.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 75
Kudos: 295





	Breakfast Makes Perfect (+ art)

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, I've been posting on AO3 basically everyday, I'm sorry I keep dropping words all over the place, please don't ban me 😭 I just absolutely could not miss October's wake the snake.
> 
> Featuring a lovely artwork by [Kyra Kupetsky](https://twitter.com/KyraKupetsky), who doesn't only make incredibly cute art like it's nothing, but is also extremely sweet and kind herself 💖 Thank you Kyra, it's always great working on a collab with you!

“Hello?”

“‘ziraphale? It’s me.”

“Crowley! I-I mean, hello Crowley, so nice to hear from you. How was your nap?”

“Mnngh. I’m up now. So, how’s the state of the world?”

“Er… good.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’s  _ good _ .”

“Well, that’s… what if I bring you breakfast, and we can talk about it?”

“Breakfast?”

“Yes, I have croissants just about ready to come out of the oven.”

“Alright, sure, I could have a croissant.”

“I’ll be right there.”

* * *

Aziraphale debates with himself whether he should use his key all the way to Crowley’s apartment. Crowley gave him one, after the almost-pocalypse, and told him to drop by whenever. That he was always welcome and please not to coddle the plants.

In the end, he convinces himself to use it, making the argument that if Crowley fell back asleep, then it’d be rather rude to wake him up with the harsh ring of the doorbell. He makes his way inside, where it’s quiet and warm.

“Hello?”

“In here, angel.”

Ah, so Crowley is still in the bedroom. This is perfectly fine with Aziraphale. He has no issues whatsoever walking into Crowley’s bedroom. Not a one. He’s not nervous at all.

He clings to the paper bag full of croissants as he makes his way to the bedroom.

Crowley is lying face down on the bed, which Aziraphale considers almost normal. Granted, a human couldn’t breathe with his face pressed into the pillow like that, but at least Crowley isn’t plastered against the wall or the ceiling. That would have been rather inconvenient for Aziraphale, who wouldn’t know what to do with himself. As things are, he decides it’d be polite to leave the bag on the bedside table, sit on the edge of the bed, and wait.

When he takes a good look at his friend, he realises Crowley’s hair has grown while he was asleep, it’s now all the way down to his shoulders.

The demon shifts with a groan, and Aziraphale is vaguely reminded of a very young Warlock whining that he wanted to sleep  _ another ten minutes, please Nanny, I don’t care that I’m late for cricket.  _ But Crowley has been sleeping for months now, and the truth is that Aziraphale would feel rather dejected if he were to sleep a minute more.

“Hello angel,” Crowley stretches and turns around slowly, and Aziraphale bursts out laughing. “Uh. Well then.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Crowley, it’s just—” Aziraphale gestures towards his face. “Your moustache! You’ve never had one quite like that.”

“What?” Crowley touches his face, fingers pressing right above his upper lip. “Like the one I was sporting in the 70s?”

“Oh, that one was a rather daring choice too.”

“As if you understood anything about fashion,” Crowley slurs, and then yawns without covering his mouth.

“I know about fashion.” Aziraphale raises his chin and straightens his bowtie. “Perhaps I’m not up to speed with the current trends, but I know about fashion.”

“ _ Perhaps  _ you’re not up to speed?” Crowley repeats, smiling warmly.

Aziraphale forgets what they were talking about. He scoots a little closer and lays a gentle hand on Crowley’s arm.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” he says, honestly, because it’s been months, and some awful months at that, and he misses the world as it was before. But he’s missed his friend most of all. Things have been bad before, but he’s never had to face it completely alone. “Ridiculous moustache and all.”

Crowley smiles back, ruffled and fond and soft from sleep still, eyes not even fully open against the light of the day.

Aziraphale realises he never wants to miss him again for so many months. He didn’t stare down Satan and save the world just to be too scared to face his own feelings.

The truth is that he’s been foolish, telling Crowley they had to respect the rules, fully expecting the demon to show up anyway with a case of wine in a matter of days. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to play hide and seek anymore, not in this world where they don’t  _ have to _ hide anymore.

Maybe he’s terribly wrong - oh God don’t let him be wrong about this - but suddenly he’s leaning forward, pressing the softest kiss to Crowley’s lips, and then pulling back, waiting for the demon’s reaction.

Crowley stares at him, finally completely awake, huge golden eyes fixed on him.

A moment later he’s moving forward, cupping Aziraphale’s cheeks in his hands to kiss him again. Enthusiastically - enough so that they tilt back, and the angel ends up on his back onto Crowley’s bed.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelps, even though he’s laughing.

“Oh, sorry, sorry. Got carried away.” Crowley is immediately moving back, or at least trying to - but Aziraphale stops him. He’s just found out he doesn’t mind at all having him on top.

“No, dear, it’s just—the moustache. Oh, it tickles terribly.”

Crowley snaps his fingers, making it disappear. “Easily solved.”

By the time they get up from the bed, it’s almost time for lunch, and Aziraphale looks dishevelled as though he’s the one who slept for months.

He’s also very hungry, by then - but Crowley looks thoroughly well-kissed and gorgeous in his black silk pyjamas, and Aziraphale isn’t sure he’s ever felt so happy before.


End file.
